the world of telegrams, and electric trams, and
tube railways, and all the nerve-shattering inventions of modern life.
Their ambition was to outlive the sense of hurry; to forget that such a
thing as hurry existed, and browse along in peaceful uninterrupted ease.

To-day, however, in that far-away world beyond the heather-clad
mountains something must have happened of such importance to some member
of the little party that it could not wait for the leisurely medium of
the post, but for good or ill had demanded instant attention.

Margot and the Chieftain stood in silence for a moment before he asked
the second question.

"Who is it for?--What's the name?"

"Macalister!"

The name was pronounced with the lengthy drawl to which the hearers were
growing familiar. They looked at each other with sighs of relief,
followed swiftly by contrition.

"I hope nothing is wrong! I hope it's not bad news. Poor Mr
Macalister's `nearves'!"

"No, no! Nothing of the sort. Why imagine evil? Always look at the
bright side as long as you can. Take for granted that it is good news,
splendid news--the news he would like most to hear. Cut along, laddie!
People pay for telegrams with the intention of getting them to their
destination as quickly as possible. We'll defer the pleasure of a
conversation to our next merry meeting."

The red-headed one grinned complacently and continued on his way,
whistling as he went. There was about him no suggestion of a harbinger
of bad tidings; the sun shone from a cloudless sky, and awoke sparkling
reflections in the water; the scene was one of unbroken peace and
happiness, and yet, and yet,--some shadow seemed to have fallen on
Margot's soul, so that she could no longer take any interest in the mere
throwing of stones. Her heart followed the footsteps of the messenger
down the winding path, and stood still as he entered the inn.

"What is it, little girl? You look as if you had seen a ghost!"

The Chieftain stood observing her with an expression of kindly concern,
for the pretty face had turned white beneath its tan, and the brown eyes
were wide and tense, as if beholding something hidden from ordinary
gaze. She gazed fixedly, not back in his face, but past him down the
lane towards the inn.

"I'm--afraid! I _feel_ it is not good news. It means trouble--big
trouble! It is hanging over me like a cloud!"

He looked at her swiftly, and his face changed.

"Come then," he said quiet